JACK
hellraiser
risk taker
risk taker
Jack only has to level one sharper-than-usual glance towards the oyster shucker for the man to keep his eyes on his tools and out of The Ark's cleavage, though that's honestly more because he doesn't want him to cut himself and get blood all over their meal. Extra hot sauce it is, and the Captain sets down his payment in the form of an iridescent scale from a white dragon, before following the siren towards the bench she's indicated.
"Mm?" He sinks down onto the bench as if he owns it and the ground it sits upon, also not bothering to glance in the direction of the guttering torch as The Ark paints a picture in her mind. "They," he says slowly as he adds salt and a squeeze of lemon to his oyster, "are members of a gang of petty thieves around The Fingers. They ain't big players on their own, but they get hired by 'em sometimes. Doubt they'll cause trouble, they're out on business already. Just got nosy when they saw us sail in."
He smirks around the oyster as he tips it back, discarding the shell and relaxing against the wash of bloody light from the setting sun. The cry of hels, the hum of voices and footsteps, the way his mind plugs itself back into familiar connections with all the ease of breathing, it all has him feeling steadier than he has in months. "This was a good idea," he mutters. And he's not just talking about oysters.
"Mm?" He sinks down onto the bench as if he owns it and the ground it sits upon, also not bothering to glance in the direction of the guttering torch as The Ark paints a picture in her mind. "They," he says slowly as he adds salt and a squeeze of lemon to his oyster, "are members of a gang of petty thieves around The Fingers. They ain't big players on their own, but they get hired by 'em sometimes. Doubt they'll cause trouble, they're out on business already. Just got nosy when they saw us sail in."
He smirks around the oyster as he tips it back, discarding the shell and relaxing against the wash of bloody light from the setting sun. The cry of hels, the hum of voices and footsteps, the way his mind plugs itself back into familiar connections with all the ease of breathing, it all has him feeling steadier than he has in months. "This was a good idea," he mutters. And he's not just talking about oysters.
full speed ahead
'til i'm dead in the fast lane
'til i'm dead in the fast lane
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
